Tag Archives: illness

Thursday 8th November 2012

Diary, Poems 08/11/2012 Comments: 5

It’s been an age…
My father became ill. He was admitted to hospital. My mother came to live with me. She needs 24/7 care pretty much. Then my mother became ill too. They both have heart failure. They’re both 84. She was admitted to hospital also. But not the same one. Then she came home to live with me again. And then my father died. In between my father’s cremation and his funeral my mother became unwell again. I took her to the doctor’s repeatedly. They didn’t listen and they didn’t DO anything. And then she had a fall. Now she’s in hospital again. She missed my father’s funeral. It was beautiful. I hope she’ll become well enough to join us, in some way, once more.
I’ve not been able to write. I’ve not been able to think. I’ve not been able to live.
When I last looked at this blog I had well over three hundred followers. I see now that I have only 101. I’m not sure if I mind or not. I think, maybe, I do, but I can’t change it. Sometimes life takes over from everything else and you just have to accept it, and get on with it.

Here are two poems I wrote just before they were both hospitalised. I wrote these while on a writer’s retreat in Spain with the wonderful TLC and my parents were both uppermost in my mind.

 

Voyagers

Then she tried to anchor him –

his bold and brazen bulk

buffetted and broken

by repeated storms

of his own making,

 

dealt with the flotsam

that rose on the tide

of each new wreckage,

 

catalogued damage,

instigated repairs,

raised his standard before

launching him once more,

 

turning her gaze inwards,

unable to witness him drifting

so swiftly from the safety

of their small harbour,

 

the fear he would not return

running deeper than the dread

of his next reckless voyage.

 

Now, he tries to tether her –

her frail and fragile frame

tossed by night-squalls

awakening each day

a little further from the shore.

 

 

 

I Must Learn

I must learn to say goodbye

to a woman I have always known,

a body lithe and lean,

a spine of toughened steel,

a wit so sharp it keens.

 

I must learn to say hello

to a smile that spreads with ease,

settles in a grey-green gaze,

flushes softened cheeks,

spills to words that please.

 

I must learn to take my leave

of a woman I have always loved,

learn instead to greet

this saccarine imposter,

this child, this thief.

 

 

How things have changed since. How this is a record of how I felt, right then, with no knowledge of what was to come. How must I move forward…

14th May 2011

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Hello, Hi, Good day…

It’s been a while. Sorry. I’ve been away, in all sorts of ways, away from my desk, away someplace else, away with the fairies, and for the last three days, just away.

Mother update… I’ve spent a substantial portion of the (almost) last three weeks feeling like the newest fixture and fitting to be firmly ensconced at the LRI. And most of the rest dealing with the subsequent fallout from having an ageing and ailing parent in hospital- occupational therapists, physiotherapists, social workers, consultants, doctors, nurses, banks, solicitors and Pa all appearing repeatedly on my daily to do/to speak to list. So friends and work colleagues, sorry for the neglect. Ma does not like to be left and it’s heartbreaking trying to explain that one is only allowed to visit during the ‘allotted time’. As she is mostly unaware that she is in hospital the concept of ‘visiting hour’ is confusing and tantamount to anathema…  She quite often imagines she is in prison (as I think I have already mentioned) and one can see why. Very tricky…

About ten days ago Ma removed her cast… in the night. She pulled it off in pieces cutting and scratching the fingers of her good hand. The nurses found all the bits under her bed in the morning. It took two days to get it x-rayed and re-plastered and by the time we got it sorted it had moved completely out of alignment and needed ‘reducing’ again- which is the euphemism assigned to the pulling and manipulating that has to happen if it is going to have any chance of healing as a functioning limb! This time there was no gas and air or local anaesthetic, just a lot of pain. It was traumatic, but I’m glad I was there. Poor Ma. The nurses and doctors were fantastic as always but it was hard… The new cast goes all the way up to her armpit but seems to be more acceptable for her and she’s not fiddled with it or pulled it apart or moaned about it too much so fingers crossed… third time lucky!

She has good days and bad days, is often quite chirpy and is always, always so happy to see me. (And Pa and my sisters too, of course.) Jo and little Evie came down on Saturday and we spent the afternoon with her which was lovely. She was on good form and so excited to see us. She looks quite well in herself now, colour back in her cheeks and the sickly pallor all but disappeared. The fingers of the hand on her broken arm are no longer black and blue and double the normal size and I think they are bothering her a lot less which is excellent. Her legs are better also- much less swollen and not weeping as much. We even have one out of bandages! We are nagging and nagging her to keep her feet up on the little foot stool she has been given. She has problems remembering. She’s eating well… loves the hospital food :)

Sara flew over from Sweden on Sunday and arrived with me in the afternoon. Pa visited Ma in the afternoon and we were scheduled for the evening so we took ourselves off to Fosse Park for a bit of retail therapy. Sara is a bad influence… we both had a ‘Gap moment’ for our selves and bought Ma presents from M&S. PJ’s, slippers and support socks. Worth trying… Sara was nervous to see her but it was all OK. Ma knows everyone still which is a relief and talked very lucidly for most of the visit.

Monday and Tuesday we managed to have lengthy and productive sessions with doctors, nurses, social workers, everyone and we finally have a diagnosis, a prognosis and a lot of new neuroses… She has ‘Vascular Dementia.’ Its cause is different from Alzheimers but its presenting symptoms are similar. There is no cure and in a nutshell, due to prolonged and poor circulation/high blood pressure/ and an inefficient heart, parts of the brain are starved of blood and therefore oxygen and they slowly die. It is visible on a brain scan which she has been given. There is no cure. The disease is gradual and progressive but presents in ‘downward steps’, hence we notice a sudden massive decline, although physiologically, there is no ‘dramatic’ change. It just feels like we are loosing her in massive chunks. At the beginning of the week we thought we would not get her home… ever again… but we have since decided we will try by putting in a package of care- at home- that will support Pa… and see how it goes. I know that if she goes into a home she will deteriorate so quickly. None of us want that so it is worth trying to hold off for as long as possible. We were hoping to get her home on friday but it looks like early next week now. Fingers crossed.

Sara flew home on Wednesday and I spent three days in London- a mixture of work and pleasure… which it was… most definitely.

Now I am home and catching up on all things writerly. Posting poems, diary, and writing a piece for next weeks class with Polly. I am very much looking forward to that. Old friends and inspiration. Exciting. Ma is never far away. In the piece I am writing she features heavily…

I did manage to attend my new novel course with Rod Duncan at the Leicester School of Writing (See links to your right…) last Tuesday. It was fab as always. I read out a chapter of my novel and got excellent feedback. It’s going to be a good group. I know it, especially as Antonia and Jenny are part of the group too. Here’s to good things around the corner.

Jo and the kids are on their way to me after visiting Ma so I’ll sign off and prepare for them.

Soon…

Losing Her 3: Lost and Found

Poems 04/05/2011 Comments: 3

She sits and stares
unfocussed gaze,
a slackness in her jowels,
her cheeks a girlish flush,
a looseness in her vowels.

Her tongue that once cut keen
now dulled, obtuse.

She wakes contrary and confused.
She doesn’t like this prison-
the bad men stole her money
and this morning,
after breakfast,
she had to do
the washing up
for everyone.

She wants her mum,
her dad, her brother,
knows they’re gone,
but can’t remember why.
So he tells her-
they’re in heaven.
Could he be mistaken?
No… is the reply.

She’s lost her specs,
and spilt her tea,
forgets to pull her gown
about her knees.
But all is not bad news…
I find the stolen ten pound note
she says she needs
for the train home,
under the bed,
while searching for
her self respect and dignity.

Losing Her 2: The Wife of Lot

Poems 04/05/2011 Comments: 2

As I enter the ward
I see her standing,
waiting, like the wife of Lot
turned to a pillar of salt.
A still column,
drowned by her gown,
her hair, her bandaged limbs,
all white.

Like a pair
of starcrossed lovers,
our eyes meet
across a crowded corridor;
Tony and Maria
without the sharks and the jets
dancing and singing.

I imagine us spinning
a maelstrom of colour,
poetry in motion
just like she and Dad
used to be,
but it is no enchanted evening,
no lovers dream,
just the cold light of day,
the reality of what is to be.

February 25th 2011

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I’ve been writing this while lying in bed, feeling rather weird, not well at all. I don’t think I slept for more than one minute last night. Im just back from the Doctor and I’ve crawled under the duvet again, but I still can’t sleep.

I posted a new poem yesterday The Ballad of Barrow-on-Sands and the other person mentioned in it, the hero, the one who returned for me rather than his camera, although he did admit last night that he was rather torn… because it was new… well… he remembered that it took place at Seaham.

I explored Google Earth (God I love it!) and found these pics. Just as I remembered… You can see how high the waves ride, how they crash over the pier. Terrifying to see how long the damn thing is as well. That is the nearest I have ever come to dying I swear, (and you know how I like to do that!) Nearer even than when I spun my Beetle on the M1, hit the crash barrier, then a lorry, then the crash barrier again and ended up facing the wrong way in the inside lane…

Gosh… took a journey down Memory Lane last night, big time. So many memories, so vivid. Times I haven’t thought of in years. WTF did the last thirty years go…? as my friend said to me. They didn’t go very far, is my answer. Just a few brain cells deeper than the present.

I think I’ve sent him foraging around the past too… I think I feel a little guilty, but only a little, a very little.

Sam the Man is doing well after his surgery. I went to see him yesterday and felt very relieved. I even saw the scar as they’d just been cleaning him up, removing his drain. An excellent bit of embroidery… that’s for sure.

I missed all my poetry events, classes, writers club, everything this week… I’m not sure why, other than I’ve been completely exhausted, feeling an obsessive need to spend every waking minute either writing poems, stories, this diary or emailing long lost and found again friend, and finally feeling vaguely agoraphobic, which does come over me every so often. Or maybe it’s more of a desire to hunker down, remain unwashed and undressed all day, talk to no one, eat fish finger sandwiches and boiled eggs… I’ve not even wanted to walk the dogs… don’t worry they’ve not been cooped up pining for the great outdoors, I wouldn’t be that cruel.

I need to doze again… come over all queasy. it’s looking at that rough sea I think. I need drugs… and tea.

He has found this…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dsbxxWpNUcc

Jesus. Should have come with some kind of health warning.

Kind of beautiful though…

February 22nd 2011

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February 20th

Had a luvverly evening even though my dear friend Sarah told me I was rude because I was late- she was pissed though… and I am often… late I mean, not rude… or pissed… I was a good girl, home just after midnight with Jules, didn’t fall over once, woke up nice and fresh early this morning. Walked the dogs along the canal- good to find it unfrozen finally, and we all got very muddy. Showered us all- not together I hasten to add, that would’ve been weird. Spent the rest of the morning writing and cooked Jules and I a fry-up for brunch. Yum. Pootled off to Mountsorrel for Tara’s baby shower brandishing a large bag containing a thousand variations on the theme of a baby-gro. Gorgeous to see everyone. especially the mum-to-be who I vividly remember as a toddling baby. Scary. Time moves on- in fast motion, speeded up time-lapse, technicolour  journey. Can’t wait to meet Finlay Steven Bishop :)

Swung by home, picked up Jules, picked up Ferg from Sarah’s and dropped in on Ma and Pa. Ma was out of it, not in a good place. She couldn’t hold a conversation. We didn’t stay long as she seemed eager to sleep. She looked so fragile and tiny and Dad looked tired. Know I should spend more time with them but I need more hours…

Off to Glenfield to see Sam. He was very well and happy with his new PJ’s, slippers, dressing gown and socks. I forgot the hearing aid batteries doh! brain like a sieve- so we just talked loudly and entertained all the other inmates.

Home, supper- the boys made stir fry-, and back to my lover, my mac… beavered away for a couple of hours in self-indulgent bliss. Midnight… the phone rang…. Thought it might be about Sam so answered with slight trepidation but it was Pa. He was worried about Ma- she was having a ‘funny turn,’ didn’t recognise him, kept telling him to go home. I think I managed to reassure him a little, arranged to go round first thing in the morning and went to bed leaving my phone on. Read till late, slept fitfully.

February 21st

Spent all morning with Ma and Pa. She was better than I expected and a little more of this world than yesterday. We talked a lot and I tried to get her to open up about how she was feeling, what was worrying her, what was going on in her mind, tried to get them both to talk to each other. Old age really is a bag0wank… nothing good about it. I need to be more patient I know. I think the crux of Ma is that she cannot, will not accept things. She rails against her failing body, her slipping mind, yet also will not push herself to get out and about, stimulate herself either physically or mentally and I get cross with her, even though I know I have no right and really have no idea how she really feels… hence my poem, State of Independence… My attempt to climb inside her head, fucking scary!

Jo arrived with lunch and I left for work. Had my management meeting and off-loaded re the awful appraisal on Friday which was good and just what I needed. I got a lot of support from my wonderful team and we worked out a cool solution to what seemed to be and insurmountable problem. There is no such thing… I know! ONWARDS…

Many meetings later I arrived home very late and Jo and I decided we were both far too knackered to attend the poetry shindig we were going to, so stayed in and got pissed instead. I love her company so much it was good just to be with her and talk talk talk the night away. We consumed vast quantities of alcohol and decided to journey down memory lane. We left emails and messages with people we’ve not spoken to for years, old school friends, college friends and finally embarked upon a mission to find my first boyfriend… A certain guy who was an incredibly talented illustrator/designer and when we’d last been in touch he’d been studying for an MA at the RCA. Both of us had tried in the past to look him up to no avail but we both felt sure he was somewhere being completely amazing. We looked and we searched, we followed link after link, we ended up at more dead ends than a drunk meandering through Hampton Court Maze… We phoned up a complete stranger… twice… because he had mentioned him a couple of times on his website biog… he ended up hanging up on us… so rude… we contacted an old tutor of Jo’s who had been at the RCA with him, we discovered an eponymous chef who was fat and self congratulatory in equal measure, and a really naff interior designer. Then finally…

… we found him!

And wow fucking wow… I won’t post a link until I’ve checked out he’s OK with it… he may not wish to be associated with me and life, after all, can be complicated enough without some mad ex ex ex ex girlfriend suddenly making contact and plastering the fact all over her blog… Mind you he is super cool and living in NYC!

Suffice to say it was worth the effort. We phoned him… and he picked up… shocked (poor sod!)…. we had a long and drunken (on my part) conversation, we have exchanged several even longer hilarious (on his part) emails and I’m in a whirly swirl of emotions and memories, warm and delicious…

Just this minute heard Sam- Pa-in-law- is out of theatre, in recovery, op went well, moving onto the ICU and we can visit tomorrow after 11am. HOORAH! Perhaps I shall sleep easier tonight. I’ve booked a day off tomorrow so I can go see him whenever. Bless and thank you… who ever :)

The adorable and talented Joe Little and his band Peyote will be appearing at the O2 arena in Bristol on 27th March Oi Oi Oi I am so proud… details will follow when I get official link. Need to go see I think… meanwhile check them out…

http://soundcloud.com/peyotemusic/big-exit

Cool.

I suddenly feel quite happy even though I’ve just seen the pictures from those kind ministers of justice… me driving in a 30 mph zone at 38mph. The picture is unmistakably of me… and I’ve quite clearly got a fag on… Thank fuck I’m not on the phone :)

Watch this space- there may be an ad placed soon…

Driver needed- to ferry around an utterly disorganised over extended ridiculously optimistic nutter for several months due to speeding ban. 24 hours availability required, no questions asked, no answers given, discretion imperative, tolerance a bonus,  GSOH essential.

Let’s wait and see.

Got six points already, three convictions pending… Shit… Know a good solicitor though… you know who you are… I’m counting on you sweetheart.

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